The Poems of Emma Lazarus Volume I Part 33

From this point I see her clearly--the auroral face A-light with smiles, the imperial head upraised; Her languid hand sways the broad, silken fan, Whose wing-like movement stirs above her brow The fine, bright curls, as though warm airs of heaven Around her breathed. He leads her 'midst the throng.

So, they have gone; but I will follow them, And watch them from afar.

[Exit.]

Enter from the opposite side DON JOHN and MARIA.

DON JOHN.

I dread to ask What quivers on my lips. My heart is free, But thine?

MARIA.

My heart is free, my lord.

DON JOHN.

Thank G.o.d!

MARIA.

It never beat less calmly at the sound Of any voice till now. I laugh to think This very morn I fancied it had met Its master.

DON JOHN.

Ah!

MARIA.

Fear naught--a simple boy, A pupil of my father's.

DON JOHN.

I was mad To dream it could be otherwise. Forgive me; I, a mere stranger in they life, am jealous Of all thy present and thy past.

MARIA.

Listen, my lord; You shall hear all. What hour, think you, he chose To urge his cause? The same wherein I learned Your Highness had commanded for to-night Our presence. My winged thoughts were flying back To Count Lodovico's; again I saw you, My white rose at your lips, your grave eyes fixed Most frankly, yet most reverently, on mine.

Again my heart sank as I heard the name, The Prince of Austria; and while I mused, He spake of love. Oh, I am much to blame!

My mood was soft;--although I promised naught, I listened, yea, I listened. Good, my lord, Do you not pity him?

DON JOHN.

Thanks, and thanks again, For thy confession! Now no spot remains On the unblemished mirror of my faith.

Since that dear night, I with one only thought Have gained the sum of knowledge and opinions Touching thine honored father, with such sc.r.a.ps As the gross public voice could dole to me Concerning thine own far-removed, white life.

Thou art, I learn, immured in close seclusion; Thy father, be it with all reverence said, Hedges with jealous barriers his treasure; Whilst thou, most duteous, tenderest of daughters, Breath'st but for him.

MARIA.

Dear father! Were it so, 'T were simple justice. Ah, if you knew him-- A proud, large, tameless heart. This is the cloister Where he immures me--Naples' gayest revels; The only bar wherewith he hedges me Is his unbounded trust, that leaves me free.

Let us go in; the late night air is chill.

DON JOHN.

Yet one more dance?

MARIA.

You may command, my lord.

[Exeunt.]

Enter RIBERA.

RIBERA.

I lost them in the press. Ah, there they dance Again together. I would lay my hands In blessing on that darling, haughty head.

Like the Ribera's child, she bears her honors As lightly as a flower. Yet there glows Unwonted l.u.s.tre in her starry eyes, And richer beauty blushes on her cheek.

Enough. Now must I strive to fix that form That haunts my brain--the blind, old Count Camillo, The Prince's oracle. 'Midst the thick throng My fancy singled him; white beard, white hair, Sealed eyes, and brow lit by an inward light.

So will I paint mine Isaac blessing Esau, While Jacob kneels before him--blind, betrayed By his own fles.h.!.+

As RIBERA stands aside, lost in thought, enter DON JOHN and MARIA.

MARIA.

See the impatient day Wakes in the east.

DON JOHN.

One moment here, signora, Breathe we the charm of this enchanted night.

Look where behind yon vines the slow moon sets, Hidden from us, while every leaf hangs black, Each tender stalk distinct, each curling edge Against the silver sky.

MARIA (perceiving RIBERA).

What, father! here?

RIBERA.

Maria!--Ah, my Prince, I crave your pardon.

When thus I muse, 't is but my mind that lives; Each outward sense is dead. I saw you not, I heard nor voice nor footstep. Yonder lines That streak the brightening sky east warn us away.

For all your grace to us, the Spagnoletto Proffers his thanks to John of Austria.

My daughter, art thou ready?

DON JOHN.

I am bound, Ill.u.s.trious signor, rather unto you And the signora, past all hope of payment.

When may I come to tender my poor homage To the Sicilian master?

RIBERA.

My lord will jest.

Our house is too much honored when he deigns O'erstep the threshold. Let your royal pleasure Alone decide the hour.